Goodnight, Daddy
by Milady Oakenshield
Summary: Kili slips up now and then, but Thorin doesn't mind, because he loves hearing someone calling him daddy. No slash!


I thought of this little one-shot idea while I was working on stuff for Kiliel Ficlets and writing down ideas for other stories. I want to do a Thorin/Fili/Kili fic but with so many of them popping up, it's hard for me to think of new ideas so I may just put THAT one off for a while. I don't know yet.

The first portion was inspired by a scene in a movie called Life As We Know It.

**Goodnight, Daddy  
**By Milady Oakenshield

* * *

Thorin cradled his one year old close to him, arm wrapped around tiny shoulders, and baby hands picking at his trousers, and opened in front of him was a children's book.

Hearing his uncle's voice was better than anything else.

"…Mitchell was a terrible dragon…", he started, then flipped the page over to the next. "He couldn't scare anyone. He didn't have one scary bone in his entire-"

Young Kili lifted his head, looked up as the black-haired man, and said, "Da…da…"

It caught Thorin off-guard. The king under the mountain stopped, his breathing caught up in his throat, his heart like a spring-loaded gun, firing off round his ribcage without a path. His throat felt dry and wet all at the same time. He realized he was staring at his young nephew, unblinking, and the only thing he saw was that goofy ass grin.

And when he finally could talk again, he brought a hand to his chest, to indicate to himself. "No, I'm Uncle. Uncle Thorin…"

"…da…ddy…", the young dwarfling repeated, then erupted into a giggle.

Tears filled Thorin's eyes.

He didn't have children of his own. Never married; never wanted to. And he was okay with this. People wondered. They'd ask him. He didn't answer. If he did, it was a lie. He never told people the truth. It was never about not wanting children; he did want them, lots of them, at least half a dozen if not more – but he couldn't have them. There was something wrong. _He_ was wrong. And it was devastating.

When the boys were born, he took to them as if they were his own, and after their father died, he more or less adopted them as his own sons. But he knew they weren't his. And he was content with just being their uncle. So when Kili said his first word, he had been hoping it'd be something other than this. It could have been his brother's name, his mum's – Mahal, anything but _this_.

. . . . .

It was the one thing each of the boys looked forward to the most. They even begged their mum to stay up extra late until he trampled in through the door; exhausted, sore, but Thorin Oakenshield was never without a smile for his boys. And after he had a proper wash to get the smell of forge out of his skin, and after a quick bite to eat from the leftovers his sister most graciously left wrapped for him, he'd give the small lads a good wash up and dress them for bed.

Then they would scurry under the covers and stare at him anxiously, and he would ask them which story they'd like to hear; the last one was about a dragon, a brave knight come to rescue his princess from the dungeons of her wicked uncle before that, and ones about an enchanted river before that. But this time they want to hear stories about Thorin's childhood. Oh, there were so many of those.

Which one should he begin with first? A lot of them were before their mum was born, but none of the really good ones until it was the three of them – Thorin, Frerin and Dis. It was difficult to choose just one. But he finally did settle on one. He started telling them about the time he and his brother were fighting, and not like how his nephews would push each other and call that a fight, but full out socking one another in the jaw.

And by the end of it, after their da had come in and broke it up, Thorin was sporting a nice bruise around his eye, a busted up lip and a few sore ribs, and Frerin nursed a fractured nose, a dislocated shoulder and minor abrasions on his face. And to this day, Thorin would swear the beating he and his brother received from their da was worse than the pain they inflicted on themselves.

Fili and Kili were giggling after that. They were so invested, but it was obvious to Thorin that sleep was claiming them. So he ended it there and with a kiss to their temples, promised them more the next night.

He always tucked his youngest in last. It was such a subconscious thing. He blew out the candle flickering on the nightstand then started for the door. And then Kili, son of Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, heir to a forgotten kingdom, leaned up in his bed and said, "_Goodnight, daddy_," and Thorin's heart stilled in his chest. He turned in the doorway to correct him, but Kili had his mop of curly hair buried into his pillow before a breath could pass Thorin's lips.

. . . . .

When everyone else had curled up in their bedrolls, had closed their eyes, had started dreaming of home, and of their bellies full, there was one still awake. Well, maybe two. Kili sat with his brother until the very wee hours of the morning shut his eyes. He searched the camp for the others. And then he ended up sitting there listening to each of them breathing and snoring.

Despite the fact he was beyond knackered, and his belly still grumbled, he sat there picking his teeth, on occasion. And then he caught sight of his uncle, Thorin, just standing there at the edge, hands folded somewhere behind his back. He was looking so distant. This wasn't unusual, except for the fact it was guilt that was knawing at Kili's heart.

Kili pushed himself to his feet and glided towards his uncle, shuffling his feet through bodies of sleeping dwarrows. He closed himself closer to him then stopped. He sucked in a breath and exhaled softly. "I- I want to apologize," he stammered out, "for my actions earlier." When Thorin didn't look straight at him, Kili hung his head and looked down at his feet. "…it was immature and I, I should have known better. I never meant anything by it…"

"Save it, Kili," his uncle said, finally, slowly snapping his eyes round to take in that guilty look on his nephew's face. After a beat, Thorin forced the boy to look at him. "I know you. And I also know me. And if anyone should be apologizing here, it's me."

Kili pushed his brows up. "You? Thorin, I deserved everything. Fili and me. I thought that maybe by teasing Bilbo, maybe… forget it. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

Thorin sighed and pressed their foreheads together. "It was immature and stupid, but you, my boy, are not stupid. And what I said may have been misjudging. I realize that I don't want to protect you from this world, I want to show it to you." Then he lifted his head and lightly placed his lips on Kili's brow.

Kili smiled and snuggled himself into his uncle's chest. "Hey, uncle?"

"Hm?"

"You're a pretty great da."

. . . . .

Thorin's hand shot out to Kili's chest. "Not you," he said with authority, "We must travel at speed. You will slow us down." His tone had not changed; it was flat, dry and almost completely devoid of emotion.

Kili was taken aback; was Thorin for real? Surely it was a jest. He was kidding. But still, even if he was, his young nephew didn't have to feign the hurt on his face. "What are you talking about? I'm coming with you."

But Thorin was shaking his head. "No you're not," he said, and then he went back to helping the others into the boat, handing them weapons and such.

He was oblivious to the way his nephew's face sagged.

Kili felt his heart stop beating in his throat. He's been whipped before – and Mahal knows he deserved every whipping he got, so long as it wasn't the birch stick again – but this was different. It was like someone had punched him hard in the gut, and here he was standing here opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for air.

If it was possible for his face to pale even more, the color had all but drained from his skin. There was no warmth left to it. No fire in his eyes. His lips were beyond chapped. It hurt him to breathe. It hurt to move; even standing there was painful. His knees were about to give out on him. His body was dying. Now his heart was dying as well.

Kili sucked in a breath, "I'm going to be there when the door is opened. When we first look upon the halls of our fathers...", he argued, "…_taad_…"

Thorin heaved a sigh, and he adopted a look his nephew had not seen on his uncle's face in some time, and he quickly corrected himself. This man was not father to him, and for many years he had taken to calling the only man known to him as 'father' or 'da' something else. Still, Thorin won't deny the soft spot in his heart for every time his young nephew slips up.

Thorin takes a step closer to his youngest, grasping the back of his head. "Kili, stay here. Rest," he says, and his voice is very soft when he speaks, almost like it had been before, when Kili came to uncle in tears if someone had tormented him. "Join us when you're healed." And then he pressed a kiss to his nephew's forehead.

. . . . .

Thorin Oakenshield tore through the desolation the second his feet hit land. The smell of rotting flesh and burning bodies was nothing new to him, but it churned his stomach all the same. It was something to ignore. His heart was like a rapid-fire pistol, shooting off round his insides, turning his bones and muscles to jelly. There was nothing in all of middle earth that could make him run faster. His mind was working overtime. Playing such horrible scenarios.

What would he find? Did the dragon's fire take his nephews? Would he discover their corpses? Burned straight to the bone? His blood was running cold, but pumping hard in his ears all the same. Many families cried out in anguish all round him. This was his fault. All of it. He should have listened. Right now, nothing else mattered. Not the gold in the mountain, not the throne in his halls, nothing. None of it would matter if his nephews were gone. His two reasons for being alive. If they were dead, there would be no coming back from it. He'd kill himself just to save his sister the pain or pleasure of doing it herself.

Thorin skidded short amongst a gaggle of people, all running every which way, in a hurry to tend to the loved ones they still had. And yet, he couldn't find the two he longed for and his heart was beyond the point of racing wildly. He could hardly tell which way was which. He glanced over to Gloin and Bomber, both looking desperate; their brothers were here when the dragon attacked. Could they have..? _No_, Thorin tells him.

And then he hears his name being called. It's very diluted, hardly heard above all the commotion going on around him, but he hears it all the same. "Fili?!" he calls out, waiting, and praying, that he would hear the voice again, and he did, this time much closer. Thorin pushes himself through the people until he sees a mop of blonde weaving back and forth. "FILI!"

When uncle and nephew were finally within arm's length of each other, Fili quite literally threw himself into Thorin's grasp, and Thorin cuddled the boy so close to him, happy to have his heir alive. He buries his face into Fili's hair and shuts his eyes, shielding the unshed tears. But Fili's eyes glistened and at least a few tears were shed.

When at last they pulled from each other, Thorin looked him over. "You're injured," he stated and lifted a hand to his nephew's temple, where blood had trickled and stained his lovely golden locks.

"…I'll be fine," he says, brushing off the fact his whole head from front to back was throbbing like a thousand hooves trotting through his brain.

"Where is Kili? Is your brother… is he alive…?"

"Aye."

Fili took his uncle through the crowd, and the others followed.

Bomber was shortly reunited with his brother. Gloin and Oin were reunited again. And as soon as Thorin saw his youngest, his heart was up in his throat. Kili did not see his uncle right away because he seemed too focused on watching Tauriel as she attempted to comfort Tilda, and Bain bandaging Sigrid's wrist.

But as soon as he heard his name, Kili turned and spotted his uncle and brother coming at him. He launched himself away from the others and threw himself into their arms, with Thorin pressing kisses to the crown of his head. And for once, he didn't care about Kili's slip up.

. . . . .

Grasping the wound in his side, Thorin used his one unoccupied hand to pull himself through the mud, and his knees turning up dirt and blood. Exhaustion was his enemy. And as blood pooled between his fingers, his only thought on his mind was not his own demise. But he could not reach the fallen fast enough for his own good. And his heart was somewhere in his mouth.

Then he stopped, nearly collapsing, utterly spent. He let out a wail of horror when he saw that golden haired child of his lying dead in the mud. When he heard the coughing, Thorin twisted his gaze to where his other nephew lay; one arrow protruded from his chest, the other from his belly, and a third from his shoulder. His temple was split. His tunic slashed through.

Thorin disregarded his own injuries as he tore quite a large piece of his tunic off and peeled back the front flap of Kili's. His nephew cried out as the torn fabric was pressed to his chest. Kili blinked hard, and then blinked again, and tried to keep his eyes open to see his uncle's face. He attempted a smile but then started coughing, rather violently, spraying Thorin's face with his own blood. Trickles and trickles of blood flowed freely from the young archer's mouth.

Kili attempted to move, but the sensation of it sent waves of blinding hot pain through his body. Thorin continued pressing hard to stem the blood flow. Then his nephew's hand weakly grasped his own, and pale fingers curled over his callopsed hand. "…I… I'm so sorry, Uncle… " he managed, and Thorin was shushing him, but it didn't matter. "F-Fee is waiting for me… I must go… "

His words cut through Thorin like a knife cutting through butter, and Thorin took his nephew's head in his hands. "No, damnit," he swore, "You are not going anywhere… "

"I w-wish I could st-stay. But… I'm so c-cold… "

Thorin stripped himself of the small coat he had. Wrapping it around his nephew as much as possible, minding the arrows, he gathered the boy into his arms, holding him close, letting him use his own body heat. "You stay with me, you hear? Don't you be quitting on me now. Not now. Don't you dare give up…"

"… _taad_… " and he can see the tears in his uncle's eyes, "… you… you hav'ta let me go… " He curled inward towards his uncle's body, trying to use as much warmth as he could.

"No," Thorin protested.

Kili took his uncle's hand. "Would you te-tell me a story…? I, I need a story to… to sleep…"

Thorin's eyes blurred with heavy tears, but he nodded, albeit slowly, and began weaving a tale so wonderful that it rivals any other in comparison. Kili likes his stories. He tells the boy of a world away from here, where there are no wars, where people lived in harmony, where cultures bled together and worked for the common purpose of peace.

And at last, when he was nearing the end, with a whisper of, "…goodnight, daddy…", Kili drew his last breath and was still.

**Okay. Y'all can shoot me now. I know this was painful. What can I say? I have a gift for angst and if you're not in tears by the end of this, I didn't do my fandom proud. But if I did, please oh PLEASE leave a good review. I have Kili cookies in it for people! What are Kili cookies you may ask? Well, they're chocolate sugar cookies :)**

_**Taad**_** = father**


End file.
